


stepping in

by mmacy



Category: Madam Secretary
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:20:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27491104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmacy/pseuds/mmacy
Summary: Blake's there in Geneva when Henry's not.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	stepping in

AN: This was written more than a year ago. It was 75 percent finished. Today I finished the other 25 percent and touched up the rest; it’s definitely not my favorite thing I’ve written (honestly kind of hate it) but if just one reader out there enjoys it then I’ll be happy. I haven’t posted in a while because I’m working on a multi chap. I have about eighteen chapters finished with only a few more to write so I’ll hopefully have it out there soon. Please leave me a review. Tell me what you like/love/hate. Or just tell me how you’re doing. Right now life’s even more tough so I hope everyone is taking care of themselves. 

Madam Secretary   
Stepping in

~MS~

He’d been the one they’d pushed towards the elevator when the clock tick tick ticked past 7:45. In that moment he hadn’t understood why, but he certainly did now. 

He’d wondered if they knew something he didn’t, but just before the elevator doors closed together, it was the look in Jay’s eyes as he whispered ‘And Blake, Henry’s on a plane home’ that tipped him off that something might not be right. 

And now as he watches the floor numbers climb one after the other, the pit in his stomach grows heavier when the gauge above reads five and the doors slide open with a ding. 

Room 507, it’s the third down on the left –the one with the two diplomatic security agents posted on each sides of the doorframe. The room couldn’t be missed even if he tried. 

Matt sent a nod his way as he swipes the hotel key card in and out of the slot before the light on the handle flickers to green and he pushes the door open. 

He steps into the suite, and as he warily eyes the entryway, he lets the door click shut. 

The quiet of the room swallows him whole. –But it’s not like the quiet that greets him when he finally falls into bed after a long day of fake smiles. No, it’s the kind of quiet that coursed through his school when the reports of the planes crashing through the towers filled the television screens. It was the quiet of the usually buzzing seventh floor when they sat praying for their boss’s life in the conference room; the quiet that fell upon the group when Nadine whispered that Elizabeth McCord was unaccounted for in Iran. 

He glances into the empty office space to his right and slips the key card back into his pocket before he gazes down the dimly lit hallway, and he thinks for a moment that Jay just may have chosen the correct tone of voice -the tone comparable to Daisy’s tablet of doom face- when informing him of Dr. McCord’s departure. 

And as he tells himself that he surely doesn’t get paid enough for this part of his job – the part where he barges into her hotel room unannounced, the part where he has to shake her awake when she drifts off on the sofa in her office, and most certainly the part where he digs through her underwear drawer- he takes the few strides down the hallway and steps through the doorway into the bedroom.

And when he hears the soft muffled sound of the shower running, he sighs. –She’d probably lost track of time while reading or on the phone with one of the kids; it happened all the time. He pulls his phone from the inside pocket of his coat and types out ‘Still in shower. Give me ten minutes’ before he hits send to Jay. 

He tucks his phone into his pocket before he makes his way towards the bathroom. But as he rounds the end of the bed, he nearly laughs seeing the clothing left behind in a trail leading to the door. Without a thought he bends down, picks up the clothes and neatly folds each item before stacking them in a pile atop the dresser. 

He then steps up to the door and raps his knuckles against the wood. “Madam Secretary?” He calls. 

He’s met with quiet –the quiet that grips his lungs and painfully squeezes. 

He counts to three, four, five before– “Ma’am?” he says loudly. 

And again, there was only silence on her end. 

“I’m coming in.” He announces. He cracks the door just the slightest bit open and hesitantly peeks his head inside. 

“Madam Secretary.” He says again as he pushes the door the rest of the way open and steps into the bathroom –he chokes back a cough when the unexpected fog of steam nearly rushes into his lungs. 

“Ma’am dinner started fifteen minutes ago—” he glances at the beads of condensation dripping down the mirror. “—but if we leave in the next ten minutes your arrival would simply be viewed as fashionably late.” He explains, and flips one of the three switches next to the sink— the bathroom fan whirls to life.

He turns towards the shower, and the lump in his throat seems to increase in size. A hand wanders to his neck, loosening the knot in his tie. “You’re beginning to scare me ma’am.” He admits. His eyes bore into the shower curtain, imagining what awaited him on the other side –maybe she’d fallen asleep, Henry had said it’s happened before. Maybe she laid at the bottom of the tub unconscious, a pile of limbs. Or maybe she’d slipped her detail and was on a commercial flight chasing her husband home. 

“Now I don’t want to do this, but I’m worried for your safety so if you don’t respond to me in the next seven seconds, I’m pulling back this curtain…” He swallows. “…although I’d really rather not so please don’t make me.” 

He counts… five, six, seven –his fingers tremble when they first brush against the fabric.   
He holds his breath as he tentatively pushes the shower curtain to the left, and… —and he’s sure the image of the woman before him will forever be burned into the back of his eyes – there on the floor of the shower, just missing the heavy stream of water, sat the Secretary of State, arms wrapped around herself, knees pressed to her chest. 

He inhales before averting his gaze slightly to the right, and just for a moment he lets the weight of the quiet soak into his skin. 

He sighs, squats down, and stares at the side of her face. “Ma’am?” 

She continues to glare ahead at the black and white tiled wall in front of her, and he thinks for a second that she doesn’t realize he’s here with her in the room until— “Where’s my husband?” 

He thinks back to the comment Jay made as he stepped onto the elevator. “He’s on a plane going home.” 

He can see the undeniable pain that washes across her face –her lips part in surprise. “He hates me.” She whispers. 

He nearly falls backwards onto the floor; he’s taken aback by her words. They couldn’t be thinking of the same Henry McCord –the man who adored his wife in more ways than deemed possible. “Why do you say that?” 

Her head falls forwards, chin resting on the tops of her knees. She sucks in a breath, and her cheeks hollow. “He’s never going to forgive me.” 

He purses his lips ready to comment, but stops when she sits up, straight enough that the spray of water is now hitting her back. She presses her palm against her forehead, and opens her mouth to speak, but no words are able to escape. And then she turns towards him with panic in her eyes –he keeps his eyes on hers, not daring for his gaze to land anywhere else. Her lips tremble, and she says, “He really left? H—” she stutters and closes her eyes. “He can’t leave me.” 

And for a second he contemplates dialing Henry, and clearing up this whole mess, asking him why or what got her so worked up because clearly she had got it wrong, but when he hears the gut wrenching gasp leave her lips he realizes that something between the two must of have happened. And suddenly he misses that sickly-sweet silence. That quiet that was too quiet, but surely it was better than listening to the cries of Elizabeth McCord. 

“Okay.” He mumbles. “Okay.” He says again, this time more for himself. He reaches forward and turns the handle to the left; the water immediately cuts off. “Let’s get you up.” He stands from his position on the ground and grabs one of the neatly folded towels off the counter before turning towards her. He holds the towel out in front of him, spreading it completely, edge to edge. 

She stands, turns, and he wraps the towel around her frame. And when she faces him her eyes are red and rubbed raw. He offers her his hand which she takes without a second thought, and she steps out and onto the bathmat. 

“I’ll get you some clothes.” He says and makes a move for the door, but her grip on his hand tightens. When he turns back, he can see the fear or the desperation in her eyes –he can’t tell which, maybe both. He firmly squeezes her hand and the simple gesture is just the bit of reassurance she needs to let out a sob. 

‘And this… this is when she completely breaks.’ He thinks. 

And it’s not even a whole half second later when she rips her hand from his and clasps it over her mouth. It’s not until she gasps for breath when he gently places his hands on her biceps –water drips from the strands of her hair, falling onto her shoulders. The beads roll down her skin until the droplets eventually meet his fingers. “Hey.” He begins attempting to get her attention, but her eyes are wild. “Elizabeth, look at me.” Her name feels odd on his lips –he’s only used it on the rare occasion. Her gaze meets his but only for a mere moment. She sobs again and when he hushes her, she slowly leans forward, resting the top of her head against the middle of his chest. He wraps his arms around her shoulders and presses his right palm against the exposed skin of her upper back, trying to comfort her as best as he possibly could. 

But she continued to cry. 

~MS~

“She isn’t going to make it to the dinner.” He whispers into the phone. 

“What’s going on? Is she okay?” Jay asks.

He takes a step backwards and peeks into the room, making sure she was still occupied. When he sees she is— “Panic attack, and she’s not gonna be able to rally from this one.” He says. “At least not tonight.” He adds.

“Did she take a pill?”

He glances towards her. After he’d gotten her dressed in some clothes, he’d pulled the small orange bottle from its designated zip pocket in her suitcase. But when he reached his outstretched arm towards her, she’d pushed away the hand that held the tiny white pill. ‘I already took one an hour ago.’ She’d cried. 

He sighs. “She said she had before she got in the shower, but it seems to be taking much longer than the usual ten minutes to kick in.” He pauses. “I mean by now she’s usually zonked.” 

“And you believe she really took one?” 

“She wouldn’t lie.” He defends.

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes Jay.” He huffs.

The other side of the line is quiet until— “Okay.” Jay says. “I’ll let Nadine know that the Secretary won’t be attending. I’m sure we can come up with an excuse.”

“Okay.” He mumbles.

“Do you need me to do anything?”

He thinks and then— “Bring me up a change of clothes.” He says. “Oh, and the blanket on the desk chair.” He looks through the doorway and into the room when he hears movement— he turns just in time to see the Secretary throw the book in her right hand to the floor. “Thanks Jay, I gotta go.” He says before ending the call. 

His eyebrows furrow as he passes through the door and takes the few steps over to her side of the bed. “You finished one?” He asks as he bends down and picks up the sudoku puzzle book from the ground. 

“I finished three.” She mumbles as she leans her head back and sinks further into the pillows. 

His eyes widen— he looks to his watch. “You finished three in seven minutes?” 

He turns, tosses the book on the nearby chair, and when he faces her again, he sees her shrug. “I’m good with numbers.” 

“You’re good at solving puzzles.” He replies. “And with numbers.” He adds. 

He notices how she ducks her chin to her shoulder, and he can hear the tears before he can see them. “The sudoku didn’t help.” She mutters. 

He lowers himself to the edge of the bed. He swallows and then— “Do you want to tell me what happened?” 

He watches as her fingers fiddle with the corner of the comforter. She’s quiet until— “He’ll never forgive me.” She cries. 

“That’s not the Henry I know.”

She looks up and her eyes meet his. Her lip trembles— “I hurt him.” 

“How about we call him and figure this whole thi—”

She shakes her head. “No.” Her head dips. “You don’t understand.” 

“I can try.” He whispers. He waits for her to speak, waits for her to explain, but that silence he’d felt earlier, it began to creep in again. He licks his lips. “Does this have anything to do with his other job?” 

“The one we’re not talking about.” 

“Yeah that one.” He mumbles. 

“If we were talking about it—” She sucks in a breath. “Then yes.” She huffs out. 

“Whatever it is, it’ll pass.” He reminds her. “Once you’re home you two can talk and—”

“I don’t know if there’s much to talk about Blake.” She says. “He made himself very clear.” She whispers. 

He reaches across the bed and grabs her hand— stopping the twitching of her fingers. “I’m sorry.” When she chokes back a cry, he squeezes her palm.

She swipes under her eyes with the heel of her left hand. “You know this may just be a job to you, but—” She sniffles. “This is my life, and—” She bites her lip. “I’m sorry I just…” She trails off.

“I understand.” He tells her. “And with all due respect—” She looks up at him. “—this is more than just a job for me.” 

She chuckles. “Well good because what you’ve done for me today is way past your job description.” 

He smiles. 

She sighs. 

“I hate to bring this up now, but President Dalton has requested to speak with you after he’s finished at the dinner.” 

Her eyes flutter closed, and he can see the worry line in her forehead appear. “Respectively decline.”

“Already have.” 

She slowly nods. And a moment later he watches her eyes fly open when there’s a knock on the door. She sits up. “Who’s that?” She asks. He can hear the worry in just those two words.

“Just Jay.” He answers as he stands from the bed. “I asked him to bring me up a change of clothes.”

Her lips part. “I don’t want to see him.” 

He nods as he passes through the doorway— it takes him twelve steps to get down the hall and to the door. He pulls the handle and— “Hey.” Jay says once the door is cracked a fourth of the way open. 

“Hi.” He breathes out as he pulls the door the rest of the way open. Jay steps forwards to come in, but he holds out a hand. 

“I’m not allowed in?” 

He looks over his shoulder and then— “I don’t think that’s the best idea.” He says quietly. 

He sees him nod. “Here’s your clothes.” 

He takes the pile. “Thank you.”

“And—” Jay hands over the blanket. “—the blanket.” He sighs once it’s out of his arms. “That things like a whole other person.”

He gives a soft smile. “That’s kind of the point. Thanks Jay.” He says, hand on the door.

“I know she’s a little out of it after an episode, but she really needs to be briefed.” He taps his finger against his leather binder. 

“No.” He says firmly. 

“Blake.” He complains.

“No way.” He shakes his head. 

“Her husband left.” He shrugs. “Just because a personal issue makes her—” He pauses, seeming to look for the right word. “—uncomfortable doesn’t mean she can stop being the Secretary of State.” 

“Do you want to tell her that?” He whispers. “Look it’s nearly ten. Brief her in the morning.” 

He sees Jay swallow. “Okay.” The man mutters before turning to go. “Call if you need anything.” He says over his shoulder.

He closes the door and walks back down the hallway. 

She looks up when he appears in the doorway. He can see the slight annoyance in her eyes. “I hate that thing.” She utters, nodding her head towards the blanket in his arms.

He crosses the room over to the bed. “You love it.” He counters as he unfolds the weighted blanket and spreads it over her lower half— she immediately pulls it up and lays back against the pillows. 

“I know.” She mumbles. He can tell she’s trying to suppress a smile. 

“That’s why I bring it.” He says as he sets the clothing Jay had brought up on the chair in the corner. “Now—” He turns to face the bed. “—You should sleep.” 

He sees her sigh, and then “I—” She doesn’t finish. 

He steps up to the bed. “Do you want to sleep?” He asks softly. 

She shakes her head. “No.” She whispers.

“Okay.” He doesn’t blame her. He raises an eyebrow. “How about a crappy French soap opera?” 

She nods.

He gives a smile before he grabs the tv remote from the side table. He presses the power button as he sinks down onto the right side of the bed— he clicks through the channels before he lands on a program that looks not half bad. And as he watches the man and woman banter over a glass of wine and a tray of cheeses, he glances over to her. “Can I get you anything? Water? Juice? Something to eat?”

Her eyes find his. “Just sit with me.” She says, and a second after her gaze is on the screen again. And as she snuggles back into the blanket, his hands fall behind his head as he leans back into the bed. 

It’s almost twenty minutes later when her breathes turn into deep sighs. He watches as her chest rises and then deflates a moment after— he looks back to the tv. It’s after the show they’d been watching switched over to the news when he leans over and gently takes her glasses from her face. He stands, clicks the television off, and then sets the remote along with her glasses on the bedside table. He’s moving through the room when he hears, “You’re leaving?” 

He whips around— she’s sitting up now. He looks to the door before facing her again. “No.” He swallows. “Just turning off the lamp.” He moves to the dresser and flicks the switch before making his way to the bed again. He pulls back the sheets and as he lays down, he opens his left arm to her— she scoots over and easily settles into his embrace. “Sleep.” He whispers as her fingers fist the front of his shirt. 

And as he lays there with his arm wrapped around the Secretary of State, with her head buried into his shoulder, he wonders where they’d crossed this line— from the friendly work relationship to the comfortability of sleeping in the same bed. But of course, she wasn’t simply the woman fourth in line for the presidency, she was a person. This isn’t just a job, it’s her life. She was Dr. McCord, his college professor. She was Mrs. McCord, a wife and mother. She was Elizabeth, his friend. She was someone he scheduled meetings for and set up video calls, but she was also someone he made sure ate all of her lunch, someone he made sure napped on the plane, and someone he would sit up consoling through the dark of the night if need be— and tonight it was definitely needed. 

~MS~

They stand side by side in the elevator, with one agent in front and another behind. And when the door slides open, she steps out after Matt— but he’s right behind her. 

“Good morning Madam Secretary.” Nadine greets. Jay stands slightly behind her, holding the leather binder he’d had with him last night. 

“Good morning.” She says with a small smile. 

“President Dalton would like a word with you before the breakfast ma’am.” Nadine tells her. 

“Of course.” She replies as she begins to walk down the hall— it’s almost as if last night didn’t happen at all. From an outsider’s perspective you’d have no clue she’d suffered a panic attack that left her spiraling. 

As Nadine walks with her, Jay falls in step beside him— they’re a few paces behind. “How is she?” He asks. 

“A little slow getting ready, but she should be fine now.” He whispers. 

“How do you know?”

“Because I know.” He answers. 

“Blake?” He turns his head towards the voice— she’s stopped walking and was now turned towards him. Five pairs of his eyes jumped from her to him and then back to her. 

Jay raises his eyebrows. “I hope you’re right.” He mumbles before walking ahead with Nadine. 

He takes the few steps forwards so he’s at her side. “Yes ma’am?” 

She loops her arm in his but doesn’t answer.

He leans into her ear. “Jittery?” He says lowly. 

She lets out a shaky breath. “Very.” She whispers. They begin walking. “Sit by my side at breakfast?”

“Of course, ma’am.”


End file.
